Archive for January, 2008

Heathrow and Zambia

January 18, 2008

Just a few words about the 17 and 18th. Heathrow as you may have heard and an accident on  a runway that delayed nearly 50 flights’ arrivals and departures. While I dreamt of my safari leaving without me because I’d have missed the only connecting flight to the one very special part of the trip, I decided that I’d hang around Africa a while anyway and go on to Australlia after wiping my tears, the plane was announced 20 minutes late. A sigh of relief and an hour later we were on our way. I nearly missed my connection in Johannesburg because I took a wrong turn. To compensate for my idiocy, I walked into an airport executive’s office and complained that no one could tell me where to go, which was true. She made calls and explained that a maturish man with a denim shirt was completely lost and where indeed was his flight. After the second call she was asked if that man was a Mr. Albert, as the whole airplane was patiently waiting for him. My flying companions were all smiles; they remembered how lucky we all were to even be there. This grayish man (how polite- I was gray at 38) is now at the Waterfront Hotel in Livingstone , Zambia.  The view of the river and the sunset are a picture that will never be as good as it is in reality. The monkeys on the trees may as well be the skirrels in Roosevelt. For now it feels as if I’m on a movie set as a stand-in. I hope to become more involved. Let’s hope my nephew doesn’t continue to make fun of me getting lost before I even get into the bush (which is tomorrow). No more Internet Cafes until the 3rd of February.

Bye you all,

Albert

The first few days in London

January 15, 2008

January 11, 12, 13, 14, 15.

A full English breakfast buffet may not be the healthiest but if you’re looking for protein with beans, it works well when it’s buffet style. I woke up thinking I’d developed Lou Gehrigh disease. I could not straightene my right hand; I still couldn’t two days later. and I still can’t write in my journal effortlessly. It’s been one of my concerns since I thought of this trip: what if I get ill? A nerve diseade was a perfect example of a self-fullfuilling prophesy. How could I go on without opening m right hand; what would come next; would my left hand be affected; should I go to Africa this way; could I shlep the suitcases? I must find a way to go on , said I. Suitcase, of course, I can’t open my hand because I shlepped the suitcases for ever. It’s not Lou Gehrigh; it’s Albert in pain. Unfortunately, it’s raining and the wind keeps the umbrella inside out most of the time. Nevertheless I made it to the Modern Tate, where Juan Munoz’ works are displayed. “Juan Munoz  (1953-2001) is regarded as one of the foremost sculptors ans sinstallation artists of the late twentieth century. Exploring themes of interior space, muteniss and absence, his art is renowned for situationg figures within elaborate or complex architectural settings.” This retrospective of his work is extremely interesting. He depicts situtations, colonial days for e.g., with photographs, and draws characaturs of the principal person beneath the photograph as he perceives him an as, I for one, might extrapolate all the intended perspectives of colonialists; a face with pighs lips for e.g. Otherness comes to mind- all his sculptures give us  a sense of what else the peron or situation reminds us of, but always with politcal framework.

The main exhibition was of Louise Bougeois’ work. An artist that wasn’t widely recognized and accepted for most of her 96 years. She has sculpted, frawn, painted, printed and mounted instalations. Three dimentiona work has been her main aprroach; she uses a wide reange materials. “Much of her work is motivated by her exploration of personal memories and the psychological states of trauma and anxiety. Though the sources of her imagery are autobiographical, her … sculptures also communicat unversal concers and emotions.” To me, she reacting to the effects her tyrannical father and cheating husband had on her. The may be the organic form her cells take. Her imagination abounds. The vidie doesn’t present her as particularly  pleasent, but cetainly as a determined person. A must see.

The Tate Modern, also has an intersting exhibition on the ground floor, which seems to be the entrance to a former garage. The whole length of the 500′ f building has  a crack on the floor that appears to be the result of a small earthwake. It is called Doris Salced Shibboleth. ” A shibboleth, (as you all know) is a word used as a test for detecting people from another district or country by their pronunciation, a work or sound very difficult for foreigners to pronounce correctly. It is, therefore, a way of sperationg one peole from another.” From the bible, a way of detecting people crossing the Jordan who couldn’t pronounce ’sh’. They were captured and executed. The crack represents the distance and division used to seperate and divide peoples through history and it is a reminder of the existence of the everlasting wounds created the other not able to pronounce ’sh.’

Friday night I went to see “The History Boyz.” A depiction of English public school and the direction education is taking; measurability or nothing. The professor that wants ecucation dies is a motorcycle accident as living education has. Well acted presented. If any of the above comes or returns to the States, it would be well worth seeing any or all of it.

I know I’ve spoiled you all. Don’t expect these detailed impressions. It’s only because I’m not well that I’m not out there precticing for Africa. I’ll be back.

Al

Going to and being in London

January 10, 2008

Jaya is the second anarchist I’ve ever met, only she’s a redhead with dual citizenship. A Swedish/American who lives in London. We discussed politics, education, ourselves and were delighted to have found a responsive conversationalist.  We kept bumping into each other in the airport and on the subway. She helped me maneuver my first underground ride. When I finally got to Oxford Circus with my four bags weighing over 100 lbs, two bobbies proceeded to give me the wrong directions to the hotel; two more compounded the problem by sending me further away. After a three mile walk and some help from a decent store keeper, I found it. As you all can guess, I also found an Internet cafe and will  now go eat something. I asked the front desk if I needed to carry a passport in London. It took me three tries before she understood passport. And I think I speak English. I’ll be back.

Al

Pre trip trips

January 9, 2008

Getting ready for a trip around the world is like getting ready for an acting part. Many years ago I fancied myself a serious amateur actor. I remember that my best performances always came after I’d been so nervous before going on stage that  I nearly became paralyzed. But I persevered and flourished. The times I walked on stage full of confidence I bombed.

Well if the anxiety and exhilaration I’m feeling on this pre-first flight day is any indication, this trip should be a fantastic success. It will not be because I packed so well; actually, my freneticism kept me from packing consistently. It could be that I’ll have many more bottoms than tops, as well as freeze in London, where I intend to dump a heavy jacket I should have thrown out a long time ago. I think it will wind up at Heathrow Airport before I board for Africa. The overstuffed bags have little chance of making it past Livingstone, Zambia. Hopefully they sell suitcases there. I promise not to dwell on my clothing line, for you all know only too  well the fashion plate I’m not. I’ll write when I’m near a computer again. A tantot.

Albert